Her soul was humbled, her spirits subdued. Two only objects predominated in her heart: her father in prison—her Saviour on the cross; despair on earth, but trust in immortality. Not that the fair daughter of Italy was of a melancholy mind. Her duties were easy to her, her sacrifices a delight; and where tears were to be dried or smiles awaked, there was the place of Teresa: hitherto, she had accomplished this task towards her father only; but from the moment of beholding Charney, his air of depression excited a two-fold compassion in her bosom. A captive like her father, and with her father, a mysterious analogy seemed to unite their destinies. But the Count is even more deserving pity than her father. The Count had no earthly solace remaining but a poor plant; and with what tenderness does he cultivate this last remaining affection! The noble countenance and fine person of the prisoner might, perhaps, unsuspected by Teresa, tend to enhance her compassion; but had she become acquainted with him in his days of splendour, when surrounded by the deceptious attributes of happiness, these would never have sufficed to distinguish him in her eyes. His isolation—his abandonment—his calamity—his resignation, have alone attracted her interest, and prompted the gift of her tenderness and esteem. In her ignorance of men and things, Teresa is induced to include misfortune in her catalogue of virtues. As bold in pursuance of a good action, as timid in personal deportment, she often directed towards Charney the good offices of her father; and one day when Girardi advanced to the window, instead of contenting himself, as usual, with a salutation of the hand, he motioned to the Count to draw as near as possible to the window; and, having moderated his voice to the lowest pitch, whispered— “I have good news for you.” “And I my thanks to return,” replied Charney, “for the microscope you have been kind enough to send me.” “It is rather to my daughter your thanks are due,” replied Girardi. “It was Teresa who suggested the offer.” “You have a daughter; and are you allowed the happiness of seeing her?” demanded the Count, with interest. “I am indeed so fortunate,” replied the old man; “and return daily thanks to Heaven for having bestowed on me an angel in my child. During your illness, sir, none were more deeply interested in your welfare than my Teresa. Have you never noticed her at the grating, watching the care you devote to your flower?” “I have some idea that——” “But, in talking of my girl,” interrupted the old man. “I neglect to acquaint you with important news. The Emperor is on his way to Milan, for his coronation as King of Italy.” “King of Italy!” reiterated Charney. “Doubtless, then, alas! to be our master. As to the microscope,” continued the Count, who cared less for king or kaiser than for his ruling passion, “I have detained it too long: you may be in want of it. Yet, as my experiments are still incomplete, perhaps you will permit——”